Deconstruction
by fleeterberry
Summary: Sometimes you have to break down what's already there before you can start something new.
1. Chapter 1

Deconstruction  
Fleeterberry  
Spoilers: Through Booked Solid  
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly. I'd treat the character and fans so much better than TPTB

Part One

She'd been staring at the glass of scotch for well over an hour. After the week she'd had, well, getting shitfaced had seemed like the only logical option. She found out her boyfriend, the first man she'd dared trust in that way for a very long time, was a liar and a crook. Her hopes of a well-deserved promotion had been shot to hell because of said boyfriend. And the kicker - which, if she were being honest was what had driven her to the bar, but she wasn't being honest - she felt betrayed by the one man on Earth she thought she could absolutely trust.

She snorted derisively at her thoughts. Of all the people she would have suspected could restore her faith in humanity, John Reese hardly fit the bill. Yet, he had. He was a man of his word. He was honorable. He was good.

But he'd joked with her about her boyfriend and knew the FBI was considering her and said nothing about repeated IAB investigations into Beecher.

She closed her fist around her drink, almost wishing John was there so she could launch the tumbler at his head. It would help her feel better, momentarily at least. In lieu of that, she raised the glass to her lips and savored the burn all the way down. After two more, her mood was greatly improved. Rather, she kept forgetting what she was mad about, which was more or less the same thing.

When someone slipped onto the stool beside her, she thought briefly about doing something stupid and unlike herself, something she'd regret in the morning. The thought was enticing, if only to completely distract her from her other problems. Still toying with the idea of propositioning the man, she slowly lifted her eyes to him.

She'd never been less pleased to see him. Son of a bitch. All of the upset and hurt and anger slammed back into her when their eyes met. She snarled and turned away to signal at the bartender. Unfortunately, throwing the tumbler at him from this distance wouldn't do any good. He'd stop her and that would just piss her off more.

"Gee, Carter, I was going to ask what had you so upset, but apparently it's me." He asked for whatever she was having and then stayed quiet until the bartender left. "I'm usually well aware, but I'm drawing a blank at the moment. Any hints as to what I did wrong?" The earnest expression on his face convinced her, as usual, that he was far more innocent than she knew possible.

She focused on her drink, holding it in both of her hands, staring into it like it was the endless sea. "Did you know?" Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, pathetic and weak, so she tried again, adding an accusation to put him on the defensive. "You must have, you fuckers are omnipotent, you know everything, before it even happens." She turned to look at John, so full of hurt and pain that she couldn't process the confused look in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She was on a roll, wanting to expel all her emotions onto the man who she suspected would sit there and take it because that was the sort of man she'd always thought he was, the kind of guy who would let a friend vent at him without taking it personally. Except, she reminded herself, he wasn't that guy she'd thought. He was the guy who'd let her get screwed over emotionally and professionally. He was the guy she wasn't going to cry in front of. So she bit her tongue, silenced her tirade, and forced her chin not to tremble.

Rather than the immediate denial she expected, some ridiculous tale he'd weave to explain it all away, he stared at her, searching her eyes, something she wanted to label concern vying with the confusion. "Tell you what?"

"About the IAB inquiries. Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually?" Her instincts told her to trust the split second of shock he wasn't able to hide.

He reached for his phone. "I'll fix this. Finch will fix this. We'll figure it out."

"How can you fix it, John? Why didn't you just tell me?" Despite her resolve to hide her tears, they welled in her eyes anyway.

"Carter," he paused, reaching out to lay his hand on her forearm. "I swear I had no idea you were being investigated and if Finch knew and didn't tell me, I'll kill him."

She blinked quickly, hearing his words and not quite making sense of them. "You just stood back and let me get blindsided," her words stopped the moment her brain caught up with her ears. "I'm not being investigated."

John's concern disappeared behind confusion once again, his eyes darting to her glass. "How much of that have you had? Maybe I should take you home."

She shook her head and refused to be distracted by a thought far more intoxicating than her scotch. "Beecher, John. IAB has been watching him for years and he never actually gets caught. He might have ties to whatever's left of HR."

This time he let her see the surprise, the widening of his eyes, the dropping of his jaw. He hadn't known. He hadn't even suspected. He shook his head. "I had no idea, Carter."

Rather than accepting his honesty, her anger rallied. "How the hell is that possible? How can something like that go unnoticed by the two of you? You knew when he asked me out. You know every fucking thing about every fucking person on Earth and I'm supposed to believe this is the one thing that completely slipped your notice? You had to know he was connected to HR."

His mouth pinched into a frown, his eyes dark, his expression hard. She'd seen him angry before, but she'd never seen him angry at her. She didn't like it. "I didn't realize I was responsible for vetting your boyfriends, Detective." He downed his drink in one sip and stood up to leave.

And all of a sudden, she realized that while she wanted to be angry, she wanted to be with someone more. She reached out, wrapping her hand around one of his wrists. "Wait, John, I-" She didn't bother to say it; he'd know from the way she'd grabbed him, from the way her anger disappeared. Instead, she simply hung her head and let the tears fall. "The FBI rescinded their offer when they found out I was dating him." She sniffled, barely noticing when John slid back onto his stool. "It's funny, I didn't even realize how much I wanted it until they took it away."

He nodded at the bartender and motioned at his empty glass. Then he looked back at her, ignoring the way her hand was still on his wrist. "I would have told you. I would have warned you, I thought you knew that by now." Then his gaze turned to the point of contact, silently staring until she pulled her fingers away.

Feeling stupid, she ducked her head. Great, not only had she embarrassed herself by sitting there crying, she'd pissed off a dangerous man. She knew better than to think there would ever be any sort of retribution from him, but she didn't want to be on his bad side.

She nodded, accepting his scolding, adding her own to it. She had known better. "One of these days I'm going to learn to trust my instincts." Glancing up at him, she saw his anger fading at the sight of her continued tears. "I was so mortified. Even Fusco knew. I guess I started thinking I was the only idiot who didn't know I was dating a liar and a thief."

His hand lifted, moving toward her, then dropped back down. He turned away, failing entirely to hide his discomfort. "Carter, I really hate it when women cry." His hand moved again, awkwardly brushing her arm as it came to rest on her shoulder. "Makes me want to hug them."

She folded her hand atop his and squeezed it. "I've been drinking, John. I might not say no." He turned away, withdrawing his hand, letting the silence stretch on painfully until she started to wonder if she shouldn't apologize.

Finally, he poured back another fair quantity of his drink. "I'm really sorry, Jos. You deserved that promotion." His eyes slid to hers in the mirror behind the bar. "And don't worry, I'll be paying Beecher a little visit to remind HR that you're off limits."

As much as she appreciated his promise to follow up on the threat he'd made months earlier, it annoyed her. Not that he wanted to protect her, that was endearing as ever, but the way he was implying that she needed him to do it because she hadn't been able to take care of herself.

"Don't bother." She sipped at her drink. "Just reminds me of something I've learned a million times over."

"What's that?"

"Not to trust people. For the most part they're not worth taking a chance on." She swirled the ice around in her glass and sincerely wished the bartender could do his job rather than having to be reminded every five minutes.

His leg shifted closer, pressing against hers. She looked up as she suspected she was supposed to, only to find John smirking at her. "The last random stranger you decided to trust was worth it though, wasn't he?"

His smile was contagious. She held his eyes, thinking of how true it was. She had broken her rules to take a chance on him and he was definitely worth it. Having him around was worth all the hurt in the world.

Emboldened by the alcohol, she copied his flirtatious style, dragging her eyes up and down his body before winking at him. "Jury's still out on that." She drained the last bit of fluid from her glass and rolled an ice cube around her lips. "Though things might be looking up."

He turned away, his cheeks baring the slightest hint of a blush. It was curious. He could dish it out, but apparently he wasn't so good at taking it. A man with his looks should be used to women flirting with him and he acted like it was the first time. Just one more of his enticing qualities, which, she realized while she contemplated his profile, were considerable.

Out of whatever bit of decorum she hadn't yet drowned, she dragged her eyes away. "Seriously though, John, let it go. It's not worth you getting in another tangle with HR. You've got enough shit going on."

"No can do, Carter." He flagged down the bartender for another round, enticing the lazy man with a hundred-dollar bill to keep them coming. When they were alone again, he turned his focus back on her. "No one hurts you and gets away with it."

"John-" She wanted to protest, but it was hard to pretend she didn't love the attention.

"I don't have a lot of friends. I'm going to protect the ones I've got." His lips curved up in a smile. "Besides, I never really liked the guy."

"I'm not so much hurt as I'm angry." Tongue loosened by alcohol, she admitted something she never normally would. "I really just want to hit something."

"Me too. That's why you're not talking me out of paying Beecher a visit." He lifted his already half-empty glass. "Cheers."

She giggled, the sound setting off every alarm bell in her head that she'd had way too many. "You know," she slurred as she tried, and missed, clinking her glass against his. "There's something else that would help." Her hand found its previously missing coordination, dropping onto his thigh and sliding slowly upwards.

His hand was quick, grabbing her wrist and depositing her hand back on the bar before she even knew what was happening. "Let's keep our hands to ourselves."

"You are no fun whatsoever." She frowned at him and looked around to see if there were any other options, as though any other options would measure up to John. Too inebriated to be embarrassed, her eyes returned to him. "Now I really want to hit something."

He stood up slowly, tossing another bill on the bar. "Time to go."

Pouting, she folded her arms on the bar and started to rhythmically tap her foot into the leg of her stool. Not only was she not getting lucky, now she was going to be sitting in a shitty bar, drunk off her ass, without anyone to talk to.

She didn't expect to feel his hand on her back, sliding around her hip, pulling her towards him. Nor did she expect his warm breath at her ear. "You coming?"

The pout was immediately replaced by a grin. "Oh, hell yes." She tried to hop off her stool in an adorable, perky way that would have belied her entire existence, but she lost her balance and flopped into his chest. "Where to?"

"Home, Carter."

She rolled her eyes, but issued no complaint when he guided her toward the street. At least he wasn't going to leave her there by herself. But when he unlocked a car, some modicum of good sense prevailed. "Should you be driving?"

He shrugged. "Probably not, but you're in no shape to walk across town."

Something about the argument seemed off, but she was too slow to put her finger on it before she was buckled into the passenger seat. As he eased out of the parking space, it clicked. "I live a couple blocks away, not across town."

"So?" He seemed like he wasn't quite listening, perhaps trying to focus on driving because he knew he shouldn't be.

With the razor focus of a drunk, she stared at him. "You said you were taking me home."

At a red light, he grinned over at her. "I am taking you home."

She shook her head, still confused. And more than a little mesmerized by the playful look in his eyes. "But home is," she muttered as she motioned vaguely behind the car.

He chuckled as he pressed the accelerator. "I said I was taking you home, Jos, I didn't specify whose home."

"Maybe you're fun after all." Her hand itched to make another grab at his lap, but she remembered the burn of his first rejection.

After a few minutes of riding in silence, a horrible idea occurred to her that she couldn't resist blurting out. "Oh god, Finch isn't there, is he?"

The color drained out of John's face. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

She shrugged. "Can't really be certain nowadays. You guys are pretty inseparable."

He was still shaking his head when he finally pulled into a parking space. "No, Carter, I don't live with Finch."

Considering her level of intoxication, it wasn't surprising that John too her hand to lead her toward the building. Nonetheless, it amazed her - both that John was holding her hand and that the touch set her nerve endings on fire. She marveled at how comfortable she was walking, tripping actually, alongside him as he brought her to his place. There could only be one goal of taking her there.

And she was far too drunk and eager to be nervous.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that being invited into his home, his real life, his real self, as opposed to that devil-may-care persona he adopted most of the time, would normally be a big deal. An incredibly big deal. As he pushed open the door and waved her inside, she knew she had to say something.

"Guess you're not a homeless bum anymore."

Damn, that wasn't right. But he was smiling, so apparently it wasn't wrong either.

She tried again, her eyes raking over John rather than John's loft. "Best looking homeless bum I've ever seen."

Still wrong. But he was chuckling now, so he still didn't mind.

Third time's the charm, she figured.

"Where's the bed?" Yup, that was right. Exactly what she meant to say.

"Tired?" There was a hopeful tone to his voice that almost made her sad to let him down.

She held his eyes, her expression deadly serious. "No."

He took a step forward, pausing when she followed him. "Wait here."

"Why?" She looked around, seeing nothing besides the back of the door and a wall.

"Because I said so." With a wink, he headed around the corner.

Ok, so she was allowed to know where he lived, but he didn't want her past the front door. Or maybe he just didn't want her in his bed. No bother, she decided, he was strong and up against the wall was just fine with her. Seemed more like his style anyway. When she thought about it, she couldn't really imagine him owning a bed, couldn't see him relaxing enough to sleep unless he was knocked unconscious.

"Want something to drink?" His voice sounded muffled, like his head was in the refrigerator.

"Yes, please." Now that she was here and the evening's activities were decided, there was no sense in sobering up. Best to stay drunk and numb until afterwards. She had the rest of her life to think about whether or not it had been a good idea.

He returned with a glass of clear liquid in one hand and - she did a double take - a sledgehammer in the other. She eyed it suspiciously. Strange. Very strange. Though, she knew, the man certainly had some rather creative ideas in his twisted head.

She reached for the glass. "You're into some weird shit, John." He smiled and leaned the hammer against the wall while she took a sip. She rolled it around in her mouth before she swallowed and eyed the glass even more suspiciously than she'd regarded the tool. "Is this water?"

"You're plenty drunk enough, Carter." He shrugged. "Anymore and you're going to jump me."

Her eyes held his, every bit of the desire she felt reflecting right back at her. "Would that be so terrible?"

He let his eyes drift down, caressing her body so thoroughly she trembled. "Not at all." He motioned off to the left. "Bathroom's over there if you need it. I'll be right back."

He left her alone again and, for lack of anything else to do, she sipped at the water. She walked further into the loft, looking around what she realized was a high end apartment. The dining room and kitchen were off to the right, the bed against the far left wall. It looked quite comfortable. Despite his instructions to stay put, she walked over to it and sat down. It smelled like him, the scent inviting her to relax.

From there she could see the floating stairs and watched him descend toward her. His blazer was gone, his dress shirt hanging open and untucked. She rested back on her hands, enjoying the view. She wouldn't regret this one bit, not even when she sobered up. It was meant to happen, she'd always known that, and she was glad it was finally time to break the tension that had always clouded her judgment regarding him. It wouldn't be weird afterward. They were adults. They were friends. They were attracted to each other. So they'd be friends with benefits. No harm, no foul.

He approached her, shaking his head. "You don't follow instructions very well, do you?"

She gave him her most seductive look, wishing she'd thought to remove her jacket as well. It was hard to be alluring in dress pants and a polyester blazer. "You're hardly one to talk about me following the rules."

"I won't deny I've benefitted, but you're going to have trouble blaming me for it anymore." He tossed something soft on her lap and nodded toward where he'd left her. "You should put that on. You'll ruin your clothes."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'll ruin my clothes? You never struck me as that kinky."

"You have no idea." He grinned and walked away, retreating to the kitchen.

She turned her attention to her lap to see what he wanted her to wear. It was a tee-shirt. A navy blue one, emblazoned with Yankees logo. Kinky didn't even begin to cover this. Whatever, anything to get this show on the road. As the alcohol was leveling out, she was getting tired and if they didn't get to it soon, she was going to curl up on this extremely comfortable bed and sleep.

The shirt hung to her knees, not unexpected considering how tall John was, but she opted to leave her bra and pants. Part of the fun was peeling off the layers, she knew. She was looking forward to helping John out of the rest of his suit. Following him to the kitchen, she found him leaning on the counter, a beer in his hand. She enjoyed watching the way his eyes lingered on her wearing his shirt. He swallowed hard enough for her to hear.

"How come you get a beer and I get water?" She pouted.

"Because I'm not drunk." He took a sip, then placed the beer on the counter next to his phone and the earwig that kept him perpetually attached to Finch.

"Has he been listening this whole time?" The pouting was no longer for show, she was genuinely annoyed.

"No, it's past Finch's bedtime."

She tried to size him up, realizing she had no idea if he was being truthful or not, also realizing that she didn't give a shit. Even if Finch had been listening, he wasn't any longer and wouldn't be when things got interesting. She stepped toward him, leaning her hips against his. "So I guess we should get down to business then."

It was actually a bit of surprise when she felt his arms reach around her, his hands moving to her hips. "Yeah, we should." He held her eyes as he ran his hands down the outside of her thighs, moving to the hem of the shirt and slipping under it. She wondered about that, why he'd wanted her in it if he was just going to take it off, but frankly, she didn't really care. Maybe he'd changed his mind about the kink. Maybe it was just an alpha male thing, he'd wanted to see her marked as his in some way.

Her eyes closed when his hands came up to feel their way along the waistband of her pants. He was gentle and though his hands were calloused, his touch was soft. She almost offered to help him out, but she didn't, instead sliding her hands down his chest to his stomach, then to his sides.

It felt so good just to be physically close to someone, someone she really trusted. Even when she'd kissed Beecher, she hadn't been relaxed. It hadn't felt right. This, however, this felt like it was supposed to. This felt natural. She rested her forehead against his chest and sighed. Had she been sober, she might have questioned why this assassin, this criminal, made her feel like she was home. But she wasn't sober, so she reveled in it, soaked it in, hoped he felt something besides pure lust as well.

When his hand moved into her front pocket, she once again wondered what sort of shit he was into. Before she could be bothered to ask, she felt him pull her phone loose. Oh. Duh.

He turned it off, grinning when she looked up. "Just in case."

"In case of what?" She stared at her phone lying next to his on the counter and idly remembered that the battery had been half dead when she left work. Maybe John had a spare charger she could borrow.

His hands braced on the counter behind him rather than returning to her body. "In case Finch has insomnia." He inclined his head to the side. "Come on, let's go."

She wasn't that drunk. She looked up from her spot resting on his chest. "I thought we were good right here." As if to remind him, her fingers trailed up his sides, hoping her touch had the same effect on him that his had on her.

"Yeah, we're good," he sighed, his eyes drifting closed for a minute. Then he stood up, pushing her back with his body, grabbing her hand to lead her back toward the front door. "But this will be more fun." He grinned back at her. "Promise."

"You'd better not be teasing me." There was little choice but to follow him. The only other option was to leave which would hurt her just as much as it hurt him.

"You know how I am with my promises." He bent down, picked up the sledgehammer, and offered it to her.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" While leaving still didn't seem like the best option, she was getting desperate and starting to suspect John was needlessly dragging his feet.

"Trust me?" He lifted it again, waiting for her to take it before he smiled. He stepped behind her and helped her swing the hammer over her shoulder, leaving it perched on her shoulder like a bat. He pointed at the wall in front of them, his mouth at her ear. "I've been meaning to do some home improvements. I want to take this wall down." He stepped away, leaning against the adjacent wall and smiling. "And you want to hit something. Knock yourself out."

She waited.

He was going to say 'gotcha.'

In a minute.

Any minute.

At some point.

Fuck, the sledgehammer was heavy.

"You're serious." She stared at him, trying to pretend that it wasn't possible, telling herself he hadn't just let her spend the evening making a fool out of herself, swearing she'd use the hammer on him if he had.

He nodded. "Go on, take a swing."

Maybe, she decided, this was his thing. He wanted to see her being all tough and tomboyish and then he'd get down to business. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any point in getting rid of their phones, she reasoned. Satisfied that the whole thing made some sense, she did what he told her. She lifted the sledgehammer from her shoulder and let it fall forward, barely making a mark on its way down.

"That all you got, Carter? I thought you were angry." He took the weight from her, lifting it over his shoulder and throwing all his power into the swing. A large dent formed in the wall. John's eyes danced. He offered it back to her. "I'm not joking about wanting the wall down."

She blinked at him. "You want me to help you knock down a wall? That's why I'm here?"

He was still grinning, though the expression was far less endearing than it normally was. "You said you were angry. Figured we could kill two birds with one stone."

Refusing the take the tool he continued to hold toward her, she folded her arms over her chest. "You brought me here under false pretenses."

"No, I didn't. I said I was taking you home and here you are, in my home, nothing false about it." Apparently the sledgehammer had gotten heavy for him too because he lowered it to his side and leaned on it. "Come on, Carter, try it. It's fun."

"You misled me."

"I did no such thing." Despite his measured tone, the fact that he lifted the hammer and swung it at the wall again revealed that he was enjoying this turn of events about as much as she was.

"You knew exactly what I was expecting. You lied." She bit back the urge to ask him to take off his tee-shirt the next time he swung the hammer. She imagined that would be pretty damn fun to watch, though the idea alone was painfully frustrating at the moment.

"I know what you were thinking." He leaned the hammer against the wall again, stepping into her personal space to touch her chin and raise her eyes to his. "You're still drunk, Carter, and this is as far as we go while that's the case." His grin returned as he looked down at her attire again. "Once you sober up, we can revisit this conversation."

She arched her eyebrow up in interest. "Are you just saying that so I don't hit you?"

"If you want to hit something," he nodded at the wall. When she didn't smile, he shook his head. "No, I'm not just saying that." He waited again. And again, she didn't smile. "I promise." He left her there, knowing full well what a promise from him meant to her, undoubtedly knowing that she wasn't going anywhere.

Trusting him to keep his word, she thought about his offer for her to take out her anger on the wall. He'd meant well, she knew that; he always did when it came to her. She had told him she wanted to hit something and he gave her the perfect outlet for her anger. With a shake of her head and a rueful smile she was glad John couldn't see, she picked up the sledgehammer.

It was a hell of a lot heavier with neither John nor gravity helping out, but it wasn't unmanageable. She took a deep breath, thought of Beecher and her ruined chance with the FBI, and let the hammer fall. The drywall gave under the second assault, a hole appearing with cracks splintering out in every direction. She grinned. Damn son of a bitch knew too much. Beating the shit out of something in a socially acceptable setting was exactly what she needed. She knew he was gloating, wherever he was, and she didn't care. He knew her somehow, had always known her, and she trusted that.

Because she'd known the same way about him. She'd known to trust him from the very beginning.

It took him around twenty minutes to return. His smug grin was firmly entrenched as he held out her glass of water. "Feel better?"

Hefting that hammer was hard work and she gulped down the cool liquid. "Of course I do." She tried to glare at him, but wound up grinning back. "You knew I would."

He reached out, his palm sliding across her cheek, his expression softening as the look in his eyes intensified. "And the exercise will help you sober up faster."

Damn. Finch might think he was the brains of the operation, but clearly John was a hell of a lot smarter than anyone gave him credit for.

He hefted the weight of the hammer over his shoulder easily. "Mind if I take a swing?"

She stepped back, leaning against the other wall, perfectly content to watch the muscles barely hidden under his thin shirt work. "It's your wall."

"Not for long," he chuckled.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

She had no idea how long they were at it, each taking a couple swings, passing the sledgehammer between them when they got tired, laughing and joking as they took out all their anger and frustration on the wall. She didn't notice that she was sobering up; it seemed completely abrupt, one moment her body was still pleasantly humming with intoxication, the next she was perfectly in control of her faculties.

Which was all well and good until she remembered the way she'd thrown herself at her companion. And kind, but firm way he'd rejected her advances.

Oh dear god. Mortification wasn't something she could take out on a wall. Even so, she tried. She hurled the hammer with all the force she could muster toward the last few inches of the wall that was still standing.

His arms appeared in her peripheral vision, grabbing at the handle, wrapping around her in the process while he stilled the sledgehammer. "Not so fast, killer."

"What the-" She had to pretend to be irritated, to cover herself for the fact that while she was thoroughly embarrassed for throwing herself at the man, she honestly didn't feel a bit differently about how desperately she wanted him in bed. Anything to keep him from noticing the way she instinctively pressed herself back against him.

Lowering the hammer, he stepped away, his hand patting the small sliver of wall remaining. "Load bearing."

Sober enough to realize it hadn't occurred to her before, she looked at the demolished section. A quite substantial section of wall that was no longer standing. "And that's not?"

He shook his head. "Do you think I'd knock down a load bearing wall and then stick around to see what happened?"

"Haven't given it much thought." She glanced at the materials that had collapsed onto the floor and compared them to the important ones that were still standing. Drywall. Wood. Looked the same to her. "How can you tell?"

He pointed above them, motioning at a piece of wood running along the top. "Support beam." Seeing her uncertainty, he moved back behind her, his palms resting on her shoulders. "Relax, Carter, you're safe. I'm not going to let the building collapse on you."

Doing exactly the opposite, her whole body tensed at his touch. If she was sober, he sure as hell was. So why were his hands moving. Slowly, gently, but definitely moving. She held her breath, fully expecting that he'd realize what he was doing in a moment and stop it before her knees gave out.

Instead, his hands continued to knead softly, his thumbs sliding above her collar, the pads skimming over her neck.

And once again, without permission, her body melted back into his.

He must have noticed that he was supporting half of her weight, but he acted as though nothing had changed. "You're really tense, Carter. You need to relieve some of this stress." His fingers continued to burn through the shirt he'd given her, his attempted massage certainly only making her muscles more knotted.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scoff. He was the reason her neck was so tight. Not to mention that she'd been rather obviously trying to get him to relieve a different kind of tension earlier without success. "You're the one who put me up to home improvements."

"True, but," he paused for a moment, his hands shifting out, over the curve of her shoulders, down her arms, then into her waist. When his hands moved forward, his arms looping around her, she could hardly believe it. "You were drunk at the time, Jos, and I wasn't about to take advantage of you."

He'd said as much earlier. He'd promised. She shouldn't have been so shocked, and yet she was. Not that he was keeping his promise to revisit the discussion, but that he was bringing it up. And, from the way he was touching her, it seemed he was of a favorable opinion on the subject of them burning off their mutual frustrations in a far more intimate way than smashing a wall to bits.

Her hands came to rest on his, feeling the warmth of his skin seeping into hers. "And now?" She turned her head to the side to let his chin press into her temple.

"You're sober. I'd hardly be taking advantage of you, would I?" Despite the fact that he'd brought it up, despite the fact that he'd reached for her, there was something hesitant about him, his voice, his touch. He was waiting, hoping, for her agreement, her approval.

It was the biggest ego boost she'd ever received, the idea that a man like John was nervous and afraid of rejection from her. Nice as it felt, it was unnecessary. She didn't want to crush him. She didn't want him to feel anxious. She wanted to soothe him and make it better and take away all the pain he'd suffered before they'd met.

She turned in his arms, sliding her palms up his chest, lacing her fingers together behind his neck. "Not at all." Her eyes found his, her heart skipping a beat when she realized the hard edge was gone. His face was open, vulnerable. He was staring at her like she was some sort of precious jewel, a mix of awe and pride. She figured she probably had the same look on her face. She smiled, moving her hands to his cheeks and pulling his face toward hers. "I might be taking advantage of you though."

"I don't mind one bit."

The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was his smile.

A whirlwind overtook her then, all sense and feeling. Emotions she couldn't describe welled up as he touched her, his hands caressing her back, his lips massaging hers, his presence filling her head. She couldn't get enough of him, her nails digging into his scalp, trying to force him to deepen the languid kiss. He resisted, taking his time, setting the pace despite her efforts to speed it up.

She was already pulling at his shirt, moving her hands underneath, running her fingers over his chest and abdomen before he even opened his mouth to taste her. "John," she growled, part in frustration, part in warning that she wouldn't be held accountable for her actions if he didn't stop teasing her.

He reached down, stilling her wrists. "You have to be home by sunrise or something?"

"No, I'm just afraid you'll change your mind and be all chivalrous again." She shook his hands off and grabbed his belt, starting to drag him toward the bed. "Besides, you got your home improvements. You owe me."

He reached for her head to bring her back for a kiss. "We've got time, Jos."

Suddenly, she stopped dead, dropping her hands from him, staring at him. "Yes or no?"

"What?" He looked down, reading her posture, her expression. "What's wrong?"

She needed an answer. A definitive one. He had been the one to start this, he'd brought something back up that she would have pretended to not remember. "If you don't want this, just tell me." Fighting to keep herself from revealing her hurt, she held his eyes. "But tell me now."

"Don't want what? You?" His voice was incredulous, his face shocked. "Of course I want you."

"Then why are you dragging your feet?" She felt bolder because of his answer, but she still wasn't convinced. "I've never had to literally drag a man to bed before. You either want to fuck me or not."

His eyes darkened, but only for a moment. His hands found her cheeks again, holding her still while he stepped closer, leaning in until their noses nearly touched. "No, I don't want to fuck you." When she tried to turn her head, his fingers kept her face still. "I want to make love to you, and yes, Jos, there's a big fucking difference."

"I know that." She blinked, surprised at the tears that were beginning to gather.

"So maybe the better question here is what do you want? Is this just about sex for you? Because that's something I need to know before we go any further."

She hated that it was a valid question. When she'd been drunk, she'd been able to avoid the subject. Now that she was sober, now that she was facing someone who wanted an answer, she had to deal with it. It wasn't really a question in her mind; she knew the answer. Nothing with John had ever been simple from the day they'd met, so naturally this would never simply be sex. But she knew how she felt about him, the unexpected tenderness he managed to draw out of her, the way he could always make her laugh no matter the situation, the unfathomable level of comfort he provided just by being near. The way she felt about him defied description. It wasn't even a feeling; it was a bond. There was an unbreakable thread linking them together. She didn't know how to tell him that without scaring him off.

But then she realized that she didn't need to tell him.

He already knew. He always had, the same as she had.

Blinking back her tears, she looked up at him and shook her head. "I want you," she forced her words past the lump in her throat, "in every possible way. I want to be with you. I want to be near you. I want to talk to you and touch you and look at you and just-" Her tears overwhelmed her and choked off her voice, but she wiped at her face and cleared her throat, determined to continue before she lost her nerve. "I love you, John, and that scares the hell out of me, but it's true."

He didn't answer her, but she wasn't worried. First of all, she honestly hadn't expected him to return the sentiment. But more importantly, the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. This nexus could only exist if it worked both ways.

His mouth covered hers once again, his earlier hesitance replaced with certainty. Though his kiss remained gentle, his mouth was determined, his tongue thorough. His hands branded her as they moved over her, touching every inch of her, marking her as his, soothing her in a way she hadn't even realized she wanted.

Rather than having to drag him to the bed as she'd been doing earlier, he steered them across the open space before she even realized they were moving. She was wrapped up in the sensations of his hands sliding under her shirt and teasing the sides of her breast, his mouth shifting over her throat at the same time. She was impressed that he could concentrate on anything else; she certainly couldn't. She actually jumped when she felt the bed behind her legs. She hadn't even realized they'd moved.

But it reminded her that, tempting as it was, she wasn't just there for the ride. She grabbed at his shirt and tugged, happy when he lifted his arms and finished the job when she could no longer reach. Her palms pressed against his skin, slowly exploring.

Had she thought about it, she would have known to expect it, but at the moment, John's career history was the furthest thing from her mind.

Until her fingers found bump after bump on his chest.

She pulled her mouth from his, her eyes moving down to see what her hands had already found. They were mostly old, a faded pink color barely standing out from his pale skin, but others were newer, angry red marks that had undoubtedly hurt him more than they hurt her. And they hurt her a hell of a lot.

"Jos-"

She shook her head, not willing to listen to whatever excuse he'd have to blame himself for so many attempts at nearly being killed. It was a hard truth about his life that she had to accept - that he was in far more danger than she was on a regular day. Even worse than the close calls that had nothing to do with her was one she hadn't yet found, one that she knew was there anyway, the one, in fact, that had made her realize he wasn't the evil, invulnerable superhero she'd been led to believe originally.

Her hands found it first, remembering all too clearly where it was, the sight of blood spreading across his white shirt burned into her memory. She was shaking when she looked at his abdomen, seeing the scar that was far smaller than she expected, the healed over hole leftover from Evans' bullet. Evans and Snow were dead. She and John were the only surviving witnesses of that assassination attempt, but it still made her shudder.

Leaning down, she pressed her lips against it, leaving a wet mark from her tears.

"Don't, Jos, it was a long time ago."

She shook her head as she straightened back up. She couldn't meet his eyes; the guilt was crushing her. Instead she leaned into him, stretching her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's not ok. I'm so sorry, John."

His arms folded around her, one hand cradling the back of her head. "Shhh, Jos, it's over. I'm fine." He leaned back, his hands moving to her cheeks. "Everything that happened led us here."

Still blinking back tears, she looked up at him. His eyes were a clear blue, his face reflecting nothing but affection and, perhaps it was wishful thinking, love. She nodded. He'd forgiven her for her part in it. He knew her intention had never been to hurt him like that. He'd never asked for an apology or an explanation and she'd never offered one before tonight, but she believed he knew anyway. He understood that everything she'd done back then had all been done in a desperate attempt to catch up to him, and not because she wanted to lock him up.

"I'm sorry for ruining the mood too." She stood up on her toes to catch his lips and promptly realized when her hips shifted that his mood hadn't changed much. His erection was still pressed against her and he lightly pressed into her as she moved.

He grinned at her, the devilish gleam back in his eyes. "You didn't ruin anything, Jos." His lips touched hers gently before he pulled back to meet her eyes. "You just reminded me why I fell in love with you in the first place."

It took her breath away. He loved her. He was so casual in telling her, as though it was something he'd told her a million times. And maybe he had. Because when she thought about it, he'd told her every time he'd looked at her, every time he'd tried to explain his actions, every time he'd resisted his urge to resolve problems the easy way.

And though she was perfectly aware of how serious this conversation was, she felt a smile spreading across her face. "So you want to head out to the Hallmark store and buy some sappy cards?"

He chuckled, rolling his hips against hers, pressing himself into her, redirecting her attention. "I have other plans."

Her grin turned more seductive as she lowered her hands to rest on his hips. "Oh yeah?"

He reached for the tee-shirt he'd loaned her, pulling it up and over her head, his eyes slowly moving over her chest. "Oh yeah."

Just like that, the comfortable ease that had been the defining trait of their relationship from the start took over. They moved together in perfect unison, reading each other's intentions and movements and desires as though they'd been there a million times, as though they'd known each other all their lives. He didn't have to ask where she wanted his hands or how she wanted to be touched, the same way as she knew exactly what he liked without needing to ask.

And when he slid into her, she felt happy. Truly happy. Complete and fulfilled and content and wonderful. She never wanted to be anywhere else but lost in passion in his bed, surrounded by his scent and his body and his love.

When they snuggled together afterwards, his body spooned behind hers, the first rays of the sun were crawling across the floor. She sighed happily in his arms, loving the solid warmth of his body pressed against hers with no barriers.

His voice was deeper than usual, perhaps from spent passion, perhaps from exhaustion, but sexy as ever when he whispered in her ear. "You sure you don't have to be home by sunrise?"

She shifted against him, just to assure herself that he was really there. "I'm good."

"Good. Let's get some sleep." He leaned in, touching his lips to her shoulder in a sweet kiss before his head fell back to the pillow.

She would have liked to lie there and enjoy the intimacy, but after the long night, she was tired too and the urge to close her eyes and surrender her mind to the same relaxed state as her body was too strong. She drifted off to sleep with a happy smile on her face, knowing it had only been the first night of many.

~end~


End file.
